Chapter Text
Working in a café, minimum wage – didn’t sound that bad at first. It isn’t like Clara was complaining. Her job was relatively stress-free. All she had to do was run the till and serve hot drinks. When Clara thought of the 21st century, she thought people would have become more civilized and decent. That quickly changed after an encounter with a man who was perhaps from the 19th century, judging from how his attire.
From a quick glance she saw a well dressed, aged man who wore an almost permanent scowl. It was him that did Clara’s head today. She cannot understand how people can be so crude and impolite these days. It would be better for everyone to just wear a smile and act happy. Wasn't that the customary thing to do?
“Hello, how may I help you?”
“Latte. Take away.” He answered, rifling through his pockets whilst speaking on his phone. Finding his rewards card he flashes it at Clara and places it on the counter, expecting her to deal with his purchase. Normally, customers would do these themselves but apparently it doesn’t apply to him. As Clara swiped the rewards card on the card reader she sees that the balance had only 37p left- not enough for his morning coffee.
“Sorry sir, but your balance on your rewards card is zero. Do you have other means of payment?”
He’d given her his credit card and had placed on the reader, “Do you want to keep your rewards card or for me to dispose of it?” Clara saw him shrug and waved his hand at her dismissively. Throughout that whole conversation he hadn’t bothered to even say hello or make eye contact- as if to dismiss her entire existence.
Then presuming from the dismissive gesture, Clara threw the card into the bin and went to go make the coffee.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He says suddenly in his Scottish lilt, Clara promptly spun around to see what he wanted.
“Yes sir? What seems to be the problem?” Putting on her honeyed voice and a smile she confronted him.
“Why did you throw it away? I didn’t ask you to do that, now, did I?” He reprimanded her like a child.
“Oh um, I'm sorry I just assumed-”
“Just get me the coffee.” He interrupted starkly.
“What’s your name sir?”
“The Doctor.” Clara thought it was quite pretentious to give her his title instead which outright reflected his whole personality.
So Clara did what her job required, wrote his name on the cup and returned with his hot cup of coffee. This time he had actually stopped talking on the phone for once.
“Here you go, sir. Have a nice day.”
“Yes, no thanks to you.” It was at that exact moment she could have taken the chance to punch him straight on that stupid nose of his but Clara knew better. This one man wasn’t worth her time nor her job, “took you long enough.”
'Prick. Right that's it I've had enough'.
However the retort did not come and taking the coffee from her hand he leaves the café promptly. Sighing in defeat, Clara calls for the next customer, hoping that he wouldn’t encounter anyone like him for the rest of her shift.
As she looked down to input the order into the computer a smile formed on her lips in triumph. It was his credit card, Dr. John Smith.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Before heading back home from work Clara thought now was as good a time as ever to do some shopping. Looking around she could see that the shop display windows had turned festive, now that Christmas was just around the corner. She still didn’t have any thoughts on what to get her Dad and his wife for presents but she really couldn’t care less. She could be Ebenezer Scrooge for all she wants.
It was eventually at Waterstones, where she ended up in. Wandering aimlessly, Clara thought to visit the bestselling author section for a new book to keep her mind off things. Spending 20 minutes or so of reading, flicking through and browsing. Eventually she found one that piqued her interest and decided to purchase it to finish it at home.
Heading for the check-out she to retrieved her wallet to find dark coloured credit card inside. Unfamiliar to her, Clara immediately made the connection between it and that silver, curly haired prick she encountered that morning.
Quickly hiding the card back inside her pocket she then preceded to the check out and by chance right in front of her, well she couldn’t really believe it herself, was him.
At that instant she had to hope on the likelihood that she wouldn’t get noticed. Clara thought that it was going to be simple. People forget faces everyday. He would just simply take no notice of her existence and not turn around... but no. He just had to look behind him, as if to notice a familiar presence. Clara felt her heart halt.
“Hello… Clara? Is it?” He said to her. To be frank, she was shocked at the fact that he had managed to greet her this time around which meant he had read her nametag.
“Oh, hi yes… you-” quickly she’d reach for her pocket containing his card and presented it to him, “you left this.” He took it, looking at the woman before him. He did a double take on the book that Clara was holding.
“Hm, that’s a great book.” The Doctor stated certainly, “you’ll be up all tonight reading that.
“What do you want?” Clara’s tone turned sharp as she noticed that the Doctor was attempting small talk with her. Lest he’d forgotten, they’re not in good terms with one another, “I don’t like you- you know that?”
“I’m just saying that it’s a good book. Don’t need to be rude about it.”
“You’re one to speak.” Clara retorted through gritted teeth and saw the Doctor give her a lopsided grin which greatly irked her. It was enough for her to drive her to do what she did next. She slapped him. Yes, on the cheek. A punch would have felt better but a slap would suffice. He gently placed his hand to where she had slapped him and felt it go tender and hot.
“Ow.” He blurts out faintly. Clara was having none of it and pushed right past him to the checkout. The woman at the counter was sure to be giving her a strange look as if she's gone completely mental. In her embarrassment she kept her gaze downwards severing eye contact with anyone. She wanted to get out the shop, pronto. She pocketed out some pound coins and a fiver onto the counter, which she was certain was enough and then promptly left.
Thinking that she had escaped the whole occurrence she wasn’t happy to find the Doctor walking towards her in a hurried manner. She could run but she wouldn’t, she would stand her ground. Actually, on second thought Clara didn’t feel as brave a she would like to be. Maybe she shouldn’t have slapped him.
“Hey… Clara!” He called for her. Clara however didn’t respond but looked right at him and waited until he was close enough.
“I’m sorry. Doctor… Smith uh for my actions back there, it was uncalled for. I was in a bad temper, I shouldn’t have-”
“Isn’t everybody?” The Doctor replied coolly and then at once Clara figured out what she had just said and what she had done not just to him but with how she treated the woman in the shop.
“Oh my god, I’m no better am I? That’s no excuse for me…” Clara confessed, feeling even guiltier she looked away.
“You also hadn’t given the woman enough money. You were at least 2 pounds short.” He revealed to her, “Don’t worry, I’ve paid for it.”
Slowly, Clara lifted her head to examine the man. Feeling that he was a little too close for comfort, she took a step back, “No… you shouldn’t have, I should have paid her. I don’t need your pity.”
“Look Clara, just accept it. She wouldn’t exactly be entirely happy to see your face there again-”
“Oh thanks.” She replied scornfully.
“-and I didn’t come here just to tell you that. I came to you to say that I’m sorry, about this morning--”
“Well… unlike you, you've been the one doing my head in all day today. Jerk.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, lass. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“Well, you aren’t my father.” Clara couldn’t discern whether he was serious or not but she told him that anyway, she wasn’t going to lose to a little reprimanding- she wasn’t a child.
There was pregnant pause after that, making the current situation extremely awkward and unbearable. After a long drawn out sigh from him he continued, “I apologize for my behaviour and with how I had treated you. I felt a little guilty after that cup of coffee… and thanks for keeping my card safe, I hadn’t realized I’d lost it,” he reached his right arm out, “so truce? I wouldn’t like this animosity between us. You seem like a nice person when you’re not so… when somebody isn’t doing your head in.”
'So the man can empathise, who would have thought...'
“Yes, apology accepted,” Clara glanced at her watch as a cue to leave and shook his hand hastily, “goodbye, Doctor ...John Smith?”
"Just the Doctor." He corrected.
"Doctor. Right..."
Clara left, walking speedily and taking the first corner in order to get out from his sight. Taking this time to walk to the bus stop, she went over how crazy the day has been. She sat on the next available seat beneath the bus shelter to wait for her ride home. After a couple of minutes she had found out that the bus would be coming late and so took her recently purchased book out and began to read silently waiting time to roll on by.
After reading a page or two, Clara felt an oncoming storm. She half acknowledges this a she returned to her book, seeing a lightning strike then thunder rumbling overhead. Soon after, the hiss of rain could be heard where at first pattered on the pavement, then it gushed. It was winter downpour as expected. It never seems to snow anymore, probably due to climate change and whatnot. It didn’t help with her festive, Christmas spirit to which she had, none.
I find myself listening to comments such as “why don’t you just stop?” and “you can stop whenever you want to, but you just don’t want to.”
Truth to be told…it’s not even just listening to those comments, but believing them and eventually making myself feel more guilty and miserable and partaking of my alcohol nightmare even more than the day before just to quash the guilt.
I thought it was what all 40 somethings were doing. I never saw my drinking as a problem and in fact, at that time, it wasn’t, but it would lay down the bricks for the remaining stretch of road ahead in my life-- !
Her heart leaps from her chest as she felt sudden apprehension, the noise of a car horn blasted into her ears. Thinking it was just the afternoon rush hour, she lifted her head to see a car parked by the bus stop and the Doctor waving at her from his car. Clara waved back and politely smiled back and then he sped down the street before she entered the bus that had arrived soon afterwards. She would continue reading at home.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The next day, she was at work once again in her afternoon shift. She was running the till making hot drinks, serving hot drinks- the usual afternoon. The only thing Clara was looking forwards to continue on reading her book and perhaps some catching up during her break.
3 hours later and it was 4:30 pm in the afternoon, which meant 30 minutes of break, if she was lucky. With time to herself to have a snack and to finish her current chapter, she went to find a seat in the café and did exactly that.
I believed that I had been happily married, had a successful career- it was when my wife left me for another man, it had really struck me hard. It had fuelled my ‘habit’. Life had been terribly uneventful and mundane- I had went to school then to university, got my degree and did my career. I thought that by my age that life wouldn’t mean much to me anymore. I’ve done everything that’s required from me, I’ve grown, I’ve learnt, I’ve provided. What else is there left for me?
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, hello Clara,” a voice interrupted her thoughts, “engrossed?” She put the book down and saw the Doctor once again, with a mug of coffee this time. Clara saw that he had sat on her table, on the seat across her with a pen and paper out.
“Yeah, I guess I was.” She answered shrewdly, eliciting a small chuckle from him.
“What do you like about it?” He inquired, Clara was sure to answer. She loved to discuss books but she seems to be in her own world at times. She thought she had a passion for literature and reading and of course she did. What would all those times wasted on studying English be all for. Maybe she just hadn’t had the chance to talk to another human being about related topics for a while and this could be her chance to put herself out there. She was unsure however, where he intended the conversation to go.
“I-I like it... I could even go as far to say that I love it. It’s a memoir… every time I read on, I learn something new from the author with a flick of a page. Like it’s something personal between you and the author as if you’re part of their life.” she told him fervently.
Clara's face stained red as she realized how much of a geek she had sounded, “and I-uh… it’s nice to read about someone’s troubles in life, I mean… it’s bad- for them… but yeah, it’s good to know that you aren’t alone.”
“You’re an alcoholic, too?” The Doctor asked her almost too nonchalantly. Emanating an aura of calmness and authority by the way he’s talking and questioning her right now.
“Wha-what? No, no, no I’m not,” Clara held her hands out in protest, “no, not me… I don’t drink, much. It’s you know… depression and stress gets to me, sometimes I drink myself to sleep or I read myself to sleep. It takes things away from the mind.”
“Oh.” He managed to utter back, “I’m sorry to hear that what you’re going through.”
Clara sensed the silence creep in. Quickly, she thought to ask him a few questions since she’s told too much about herself already.
“So uh Doctor,” she initiated, “have you read the book yourself? I’m assuming you have. Did you like it?” Clara asked hesitantly.
The Doctor answered after a few sips of his latte, it had looked like he had been thinking long and hard about it as he took a few seconds to construct an answer carefully, “I liked how the author… what’s his name again? Another John Smith was it?”
“Yeah, it was another Smith, it’s a generic name, no offense to you too but I think delivers well.”
“What does?”
“I’m no literary scholar and I’m not amazing with analysis,” Clara laughed nervously, “but you know how there’s millions and millions of Smiths and it’s a common name…? He represents our society. Meaning it’s likely another John Smith or Jane Smith is suffering with alcoholism, depression, etcetera… It’s as if Mr. Smith is speaking out on behalf of everyone else.”
Clara placed drank her tea in apprehension as she waited for a response. She saw him nod to her slowly and wrote something down on the notepad of his, scribbling something on the paper which Clara couldn’t read from where she was. It was quite queer she’d thought.
“Wait why are you writing? Don’t tell me you’re writing all this down. Are you actually a Doctor... of psychology? Or maybe a journalist?”
“No, I’m just jotting notes- ideas for personal use,” he replied as a matter of fact, “do you mind me doing this?”
“I guess… it’s fine but yes, sorry, continue on.” She was supposed to be the one asking the questions not the other way around.
“Alright then,” he took another sip of his coffee, “yes, well actually I didn’t like it, quite rather, I’d absolutely hated it.”
“Y-you did?” Clara was shocked by the turn of events, “from your disposition and uncanny interest of the book, I thought that you really liked it. You’d even said that it was good.”
“The book is good. I hate it because it’s too good.”
“What you just said there, it’s hypocrisy.” Clara mentioned.
“There’s a narrow boundary between love and hate, besides I have reasons to why my view differs from yours,” The Doctor explained, “I can see why many would think and say that it’s a good book.”
“Well, tell me then Doctor. What views differed from mine?” Clara asked in sudden interest.
“That would be a spoiler, I’m afraid.” He argued. Clara sunk into her chair disappointed, she wanted to know right now but for her to do that she would need to read on.
“Fine, I’ll finish the chapter I’m on tonight… and maybe another few. Why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself? What’s your job? I can’t seem infer what you could be, you look like a wild card with that outfit of yours. Are you a… magician perchance?” Clara asked jokingly, she was still curious anyhow.
“Ah, no I’m not a magician rather, I’m a jack-of-all-trades almost, master of a few things. I was an astrophysicist many years ago and musician and artist here and there.”
“Wow… show-off.” Clara remarked, half envious and half astonished.
“Hey, it isn’t my fault I’ve lived a little longer than you have.”
“A little?” She emphasized, mockingly.
“Don’t rub it in. Besides, you have your whole life ahead of you.”
“What,” she moved across the table to get closer to him, “in this dump? Earning minimum wage will get me nowhere.” She whispered to him, careful to not be caught by her employer and colleague, who were talking to a customer across the room.
“You could go elsewhere, somewhere that offers a higher wage possibly. Also, what of your studies did you go to university?”
“I did go to university… okay I may have told a lie about me,” She disclosed, “I might actually be a literary scholar all along.”
“Oh my… what a revelation!” The Doctor replied mockingly, like Clara had done before.
“Yes, I majored in English literature and language… I’d even taught once, in a secondary school. It didn’t go out so well, I quit 9 months ago.”
“What happened?” It was obvious to the Doctor that he had hit a sensitive topic as she her shoulders fell and her face turned somber. He was careful not to force her into telling him something that she wasn’t comfortable with.
“It’s stupid really. Life’s like that sometimes you know?” He felt like he seeing a part of her that probably no one had never witnessed before. She was all tears now and all he could do was to be quiet and listen to whatever she has to say, “You know what? I’ll tell you, Doctor, I don’t know why I’m telling you- a complete stranger but I can’t run away from it forever and maybe this is going to make me feel better somehow.”
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